


what a dick

by watashi_no_akuma_to_notatakai



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, bellamy is a douche js, idk send help, only a little, really shitty and short like i wrote this last min, y am i putting all this in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watashi_no_akuma_to_notatakai/pseuds/watashi_no_akuma_to_notatakai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsundere bellamy. Prompt from my tumblr (forever-emma-forever-ago) asking for Murphy getting drunk off of Monty's still, paired with a prompt for smut by the plunge pool.</p><p>this sucks I'm sorry</p>
            </blockquote>





	what a dick

**Author's Note:**

> *heres the thing. Two things actually. First, I suck at writing smut (pun absolutely intended) and idk I just really am not happy with what comes out (okay enough with the puns). Secondly, irdk why but I really dislike writing smut. I mean I fuckinG love reading it, moon-night-god bless fanfiction writers everywhere, but I just really really hate writing it. I'm sure it's not embarrasment or anything; im so gay i cant even. but I get really unconfortable and even queasy/anxious when trying to formulate the words (yeah I am a drama queen, much apology). So pls forgive if I rarely post smut and just stick to fluff and angst *maniacal laugh* I know u guys don't want my angst but if I have to suffer the angst then u must too godamnit*  
> On another note (wow this is the first long not I've written) if you have not seen the movie Judas Kiss ya'll should get on that. Starring gay AF Richard Harmon who made me realize that yEs, Murphy could totally be a tsundere cockslut. The movie is trippy and filmed unusually but it's really good and shows Richard Harmon's bare ass for a full two seconds so idk about you but it was on my list. Anyways enjoi/comment/whatevs, also #ProtectTheTsundereBabus2k15 and join the #Cockslut!Murphy movement. Sayonara
> 
> *also I told you I would always find a way to mention Murphy's terrible mother*

> _"Let us hope for better things, though we may not ever get them." - La Dispute 'Love Song For Poor Michigan/Safer In The Forest'_  
>   
>   
> 

* * *

  
  
Murphy stumbles over a tree root.

Or was that a person? He doesn't know and frankly, he doesn't care.

The jostling past the limber arms and legs of passed out adolescents has him steadying himself on every other branch and tree trunk in his vicinity. Soft leaves slip under his feet and the chill of the night air does nothing to aid his clarity.

Murphy feels the blood rushing to his head, tingling the tips of his fingers, his teeth gritting and unclenching in a shuttery laugh.

He was as wasted as his mother on a good day.  
  
Monty had managed, somehow, with potatoes -and god knows what they had spent hours trekking in the woods for- to conjure up a rogue mixture of distilled vodka and moonshine. Murphy had treated himself to the first acidic gulps because of how indebted those lost children ought to feel towards him; meaning he was the first to fall. And the first to drunkenly pull himself back up, spouting incoherent jeers and unwittingly kicking off the party.

The bonfire crackled sparks of amber into the air as the long lived night slowly died down, and once restless bodies drifted off into fitful, liquor induced dreams. There are bodies everywhere, lying about, and if Murphy had been seeing this just a week into the future, he would have been traumatized by the mass of people strewn about on the dirt. Murphy stumbles about, directing his half-responsive legs towards a more secluded section of wood, hunting for a decent patch of grass to pass out on.

The world fades slowly into quiet until Murphy can only hear the soft tread of his boots upon pine needles, the wanton chirp of cicadas, and the incessant buzzing behind his ears.  
  
He doesn't stray far from camp, not one to willingly invite danger, yet when a voice pipes up directly behind him, Murphy has half the mind to piss himself.

Murphy whips around, moving far too fast for his level of current brain function and trips over his own feet, falling flat on his ass, heels of his palms barely softening the drop.

"Shs shhhh hitt!" Murphy slurred.

He focuses his bleary eyes upwards and they make contact with a dark hand reaching out in front of his face.

For a split moment, Murphy is shocked into feeling like a child again, and almost reels back as if the hand is poised to hit him. This vulnerability lasts less than a second and before the owner of the hand can comprehend it, Murphy has gained his composure.

Or as much composure as a dirty boy with liquor on his breath could gather. The hand is still held out in front of his face, floating there, and Murphy takes a brief moment to convince himself that it's actually attached to something.

"Yo."

The word is clipped and unquestioning, and even with the alcohol clouding Murphy's senses he can tell without a doubt who the voice belongs to.

"Wha d'you want Bellllamy?" Murphy draws out his name with a smirk, as if he's just correctly answered a question that no one else can comprehend.

"Tch."

Bellamy lets out the dissatisfied noise as he drops his hand. He's just looking down at him, and does this for a few tense seconds, neither one wanting to revive the communication.

Murphy's ego can't stand having Bellamy leering over him, but drunk as he is, he also can't stand.  
  
He leans back on the pads of his fingers, shoulders pressed up almost to his ears as he stares up at Bellamy. And suddenly his disposition changes. Murphy's lips melt into a sly grin and the objective in his clouded mind suddenly becomes painfully clear. His voice drops an octave.

"Sooo. You gonna help me up or whatt?"

Bellamy doesn't seem to notice the hint of something new growing in Murphy's voice, and if he does, he probably boils it down to too much liquor and Murphy's usual sarcasm.

"I should just leave you here." Bellamy huffs, his silky baritone a welcome change to Murphy's current throaty babble.

"But you won't" Murphy grins back.

Anyone else would have noticed the obvious note of attempted seduction in the drunken brunettes words, yet the taller doesn't seem to catch on.  
So it comes as a soft surprise when Bellamy suddenly reaches down and grips under both Murphy's arms, tugging the invalid to his feet.

"Wh-oah!"

The change in air pressure forces all the blood to Murphy's head and he almost ends up on his rear again. Bellamy's grip is still secured to his ribs so he doesn't fall. The taller brunette pitches him against a tree and removes his hands. Murphy notices the jarring absence more than he thinks he ought to. Bellamy is close enough for even Murphy's dilated eyes to conceive the detail of his deep irises, the jagged slope if his chin, soft incline of his cheekbone, the luring silhouette of his lips...

"I cant' carry you the whole way, you gonna start walking or-"

Murphy doesn't know if he's experiencing the next level of hyper-sensitivity, or if it's the alcohol, but when Bellamy speaks Murphy can feel his breath against his face and inside his blood and encircling his lungs.

Murphy is too drunk to ask questions.

He lurches forward and kisses him. He clutches the edges of Bellamy's jacket with fumbling fingertips and feels himself marking the leather. Murphy's lips are pressed against the other boys and everything is frozen.

Murphy doesn't think he breathes once.

Bellamy is shocked into silence and after an instant he reels backwards, separating their lips.

Murphy, whose weight was supported by the darker boy, lurches forward, fingers stinging and heat rushing to his face for the hundredth time that night. Everything crashes around Murphy then but the liquor content in his blood delays his ability to care. Murphy just falls back to his stance against the tree and glares at Bellamy through the line of his dark fringe.

He's not sure what he's expecting, but what happens next was probably the last item on the list. Bellamy pushes him back against tree and hooks his mouth onto Murphy's. He clamps his teeth on Murphy's bottom lip, bracing both his arms onto the bark and catching the quaking moan Murphy releases on his tongue. 

Murphy wants to revel in the woody taste of Bellamy and his ridiculously soft lips, but his inebriated ego won't allow it. Murphy tugs his arms from the clamp of Bellamy's hands and tilts his face away.

"D-did I say you could kiss me you jackass?" Murphy's voice is groggy and residing inches away from Bellamy's face he feels a buzz in his chest that he's sure isn't from the alcohol.  
  
Bellamy doesn't falter, arms resting on either side of Murphy's head, trapping him, and Murphy wonders if this is what they mean when they say love is a gilded cage.

Not that he was in love or anything.

His hands began trailing up Bellamy's chest, completely contrasting the disinterested frown pasted on Murphy's face. Murphy's anger is quickly fading at the thought of Bellamy's lips around his dick and flushes he suddenly, leaning in to kiss him fully on the lips. Bellamy's lips were softer than before, if possible, Murphy's mouth hot as he worked his tongue inside Bellamy's and proceeded to explore it thoroughly. Bellamy's brow creased as he returned the kiss and groaned as Murphy began to suck on his tongue. Murphy was mewling, and as the noises that left his throat became increasingly obscene, heat began forming at the base of Bellamy's torso.  
  
They stay like this for a while, intermittently fluctuating between rapid persistence, and a lazily slow rhythm.

No words are exchanged.

It isn't long enough though, when a twig snaps and Bellamy snaps his head up, breaking the connection. 

"Hey-" Bellamy reels back and turns to see Atom standing a short distance away, watching with an expression quickly transitioning from surprise to embarrassment. 

"Uh- Bellamy- uh. We n-need you back at camp..."

Atom stutters but doesn't move, seemingly waiting for some kind of affirmation from Bellamy.

Bellamy wonders how much he saw and if it would be possible to brush it off as a drunken mistake. It's still dark and Atom couldn't have been standing there long without his noticing. Bellamy's frustration flares up swiftly because the last thing he needs is for rumors about him and Murphy to start spreading through the camp. Atom is still standing there, looking lost and avoiding eye contact.

Murphy sways forward and for a split second Bellamy is terrified that he is going to try and kiss him again. Without forewarning his fist connects with the side of Murphy's jaw, causing the other to crumple to the ground, falling on his knees and scratching his palms on the roots of a tree as he tries to steady himself.

"You're drunk, Murphy."

Bellamy instantly regrets the action, but the remorse doesn't reveal itself because his voice displays nothing but disgust and contempt.

Murphy tries to claw at the static edges of the tree, and manages to pull himself to his feet, bowed over. He doesn't even glance at Atom, but the animosity of the glare he directs at Bellamy could probably be felt miles over.

"No. Fuck y-"

Murphy's rancor was cut short by a sudden wave of nausea, followed by retching, and the remnants of what meager breakfast he had picked at that day.

Bellamy doesn't wait around for him to finish and Murphy is left heaving, acid bile burning his throat and tears pricking at his eyes. When Murphy is done choking on moonshine and a lung, he spits and remains bowed over, knees trembling, tired streaks of salt water spotting the ground.

Breathing deeply, angry and confused but too detached to do anything about it, he stumbles around in the dark. He half-consciously heads away from the camp, feeling satisfied with the idea of never having to come face to face with Bellamy for the rest of his life.

He falls asleep by a rock deep in the woods, the sound of buzzing stronger now than in it's inception. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he'd be a lucky bastard if he survived till morning, and yet he couldn't find a fuck to give.  
  


 

* * *

 

 

  
  
He wakes to the buzzing again. Except it's not just the pounding in his head, but a constant crashing sound directly next to him. Prying his eyes open and propping himself up on one weak elbow he turns to discover the source of the noise.

The waterfall flows from a cliff about a story tall, cascading into the large crevice measuring about the same width, with a muffled, bubbling roar. A plume of mist hangs above the plunge pool and the rainbow light reflecting off the spots where sunlight shot through the trees seemed to be tinkling like laughter, or a jumble of wine glasses. Despite the dreary and chaotic night that Murphy wanted to refrain from acknowledging, waking up to this sight had a soft smile settling onto the planes of his face.

He almost drowns in his rush to get in, tearing off his disheveled clothes and leaving them strewn to the side. Murphy settles in against a rock face jutting out from beneath the fall. The waist-high water is stunningly cold at first, and has his teeth chattering in seconds, but it slowly begins to warm and the freshness of it all helps wind down his borderline hangover.  
  
His eyes remain open, so when Bellamy clears the tree line it doesn't come as much of a surprise as it could have. Murphy is still shocked though, and almost slips from the rock to possibly half-drown for the second time in a span of twenty minutes.  
  
Bellamy walks slowly and with purpose, like he has all the time in the world. The morning sun peeks through the trees and illuminates the rocks beneath the water, warms the crown of Murphy's hair, and highlights ambiguous spots on Bellamy's skin. His eyes never leave Murphy's. He doesn't speak and Murphy is half tempted to yell something vulgar at him. Bellamy walks forward undressing, removing his jacket, shirt, unbuckling his shorts until he's only bearing the thin cloth of his underwear.

He slips underneath the water, never speaking, gaze intense and pinning Murphy at a distance.

It's only when Bellamy has halted a few feet away in the water, that Murphy finds his voice.

"Well. Look what we have here. Did someone forget to lock the closet door?" Murphy sneers.

His mother used to constantly remind him that sneering made him 'even more unattractive' than he already was.

So he made it a habit.  
  
Bellamy doesn't respond and Murphy wants to tear the impassive look from his face, wants to bite off those stupid, cocksucking, ludicrously soft lips from Bellamy's stupid fucking face.

Murphy simmers, and spits out,

"I knew you were a prick, but I didn't realize you were a bitch too."

Bellamy just shifts his weight, like a parent waiting out a small child's hissy fit.

The lack of response only serves to anger Murphy more, and the frustration leaves him drained. He leans his head back, bumping it against the moist rock and letting out a terse sigh.

"What do you want from me, Bellamy?" Murphy asks the sky, eyes focused on a cloud bearing an eerie resemblance to a deer.

"I could ask you the same thing."

The response is not a response at all, and Murphy retreats back into his usual sarcastic demeanor with a smirk.

"What, you change your mind?" Murphy belts out a cutting laugh.

"I don't have to explain myself." Bellamy states, and Murphy vaguely notices that he has gravitated closer.

Murphy drags his eyes down to look at Bellamy, squarely in the eye now and lowers his voice to virtually a whisper.

"Yeah, well neither do I."  
  
Suddenly Bellamy's on him, in his space, eyes and mouth inches away. He's glaring at Murphy, but there's something lurking under the stare that has Murphy's breath catching in his chest. Bellamy breathes against his skin, gently brushes his lips against the bruise beginning to form on Murphy's cheek.

The sun isn't essentially beating down on them but Murphy is hot.

Lips meet and everything is hot and Murphy can’t breathe again and Bellamy doesn't seem to care. The scrape of teeth and tiny nipping bites along the line of Murphy's chin, hands trailing lower, lower, lower. Murphy is biting too, sucking kisses over the jut of Bellamy's jaw and blunt fingernails raking over the muscles of his back.

The tumbling waves of the fall crash not an arms length away, leaving both offensive boys soaked. Water drips from Murphy's longer hair, runs in rivulets down Bellamy's chest, and both their faces.

It's a feat that they are both still breathing. Bellamy's weight is crushing, anchoring him to the rock and Murphy almost laughs against Bellamy's lips, thinking of the idiom 'between a rock and a hard place'.

Bellamy's hand wanders to waist, leading to his ass and squeezes. Murphy chokes out a fluttering breath. At this point Murphy wishes he had some more of that moonshine, if only to stop his hand from shaking as he reaches down and palms Bellamy's growing bulge. He is rewarded with a rattling groan and Bellamy's glazed, half-lidded eye's crinkling at the corners.

"Murphy..." Bellamy exhales. Gaining confidence Murphy reaches in, moves his hand a couple of times, varying with a tight and shallow grip and Bellamy rolls into him with a hiss, burying his face in Murphy's shoulder.

Bellamy's hand is on him too, now, and Murphy can barely focus on moving his arm with the monumental distraction of Bellamy's rough fingers against his cock.

Bellamy picks up speed, moving faster, tugging harder and Murphy’s hips start rolling into Bellamy, against his will. The taller brunette has a hand intertwined in the thick locks of Murphy's damp hair and he tugs. Bellamy bites down on the others lip painfully hard, swallows a groan, Murphy swears to god he’s bleeding, and then there’s hot liquid on his fingers.

Bellamy doesn't stop jerking off Murphy though, and soon his grip on Bellamy's shoulder tightens.

"F-uck." There is an airy sort of quality to Murphy's voice as he quivers. Bellamy feels a low moan slide across his skin and he knows the exact moment Murphy is about to come. The hand on his shoulder contracts. Bellamy breathes into others hair, tightening his grip around him.

Murphy is drowning, heady, overstimulated. He finishes and releases over Bellamy's fingers, panting heavily.

Collapsing forward against Bellamy, he turns his head to the side and sighs, warm, moist breath puffing over Bellamy's collarbone.

They're still wrapped around each other coming down from the high.

Bellamy pulls away, smirks and dips under water. Rising back up and pushing the hair from his forehead, Bellamy smiles at the wrecked boy in front of him.  
  
Uncomfortable with being scrutinized, especially after the turbulent day Murphy has had, he frowns,

"I just came in this water that's disgusting."

Bellamy laughs, and it opens his whole face to the sun, transforming him into a completely different being, reminding Murphy once again, why the hell he wanted Bellamy in the first place.

They eye each other and Murphy feels utterly naked as Bellamy stares him down, the satisfied smirk never dropping from his lips. Murphy rushes to tug up his boxers.

"I should head back." Bellamy sighs.

Murphy doesn't know if it's wishful thinking but Bellamy's smile resembles something a little sadder than it's previous counterpart.

Murphy however, isn't prepared for the disappointment when it slams into him, but he does a superb job of not letting it show.

"You should." Murphy replies in a clipped tone, leaving no room for any more conversation.

Bellamy stills for a moment, as if contemplating something of the utmost importance. He apparently reaches his decision because in the next second he bows forward and kisses Murphy.

This time it's softer than expected, achingly slow, and ends too soon. 

Bellamy smiles against Murphy's mouth before he lets go.  
  
Murphy doesn't watch him leave, but stares at the sun rising and stinging his irises while he can still feel the ghost of his Bellamy's lips on his mouth. The treetops whistle in the soft mid-morning breeze and the suns warmth starts to leech into his limbs.

Murphy drops his head and relaxes back against the rock, eyes closed, the rays of sun painting his skin, his face.

Everything is warm, but still not as warm as his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> *really sorry I haven't updated in a long time but I've been super busy; my mental health hasn't been in the best place, a friend of mine just died, and i've been so out of it I barely had the focus to apply for university let alone post :$ but i've missed this and I promise I will make up for it in February where I will attempt to write alot more shitty substance so hit up my tumblr forever-emma-forever-ago to send me prompts and I will tuck them away for next month! <3  
> *p.s. I appreciate every one of you guys like my heart doesn't know how to respond to compliments so thank you, so, so, much*


End file.
